Sidle's Despair, Grissom's Demise
by Skrain Dukat
Summary: End of Season 7 AU, Living Gil Dead Gil is the working title play on Living Doll and Dead Doll . Finished with part one. Part two coming eventually. Check back often.


This takes place as an AU to when Sara is abducted

He was running late. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he sighed. He was never late. Unintentionally, at least. The sun was already almost hidden behind the mountains and Gil Grissom was still a little less than halfway to work. He'd overslept and missed his alarm.

He looked up, red light. A little old lady wanted to cross the street, there were no cars. He sighed again and hit the brake, easing to a stop. Behind him a large SUV didn't appear to have seen the light change, and came barreling down the road, closer, closer, until it slammed into the back of Grissom's car, going at least 60 miles per hour. Grissom's car crumpled like an aluminum soda can under the pressure and weight of the SUV. Despite his safety belt, Grissom was thrown from the car, landing in the middle of the intersection with a heavy thud.

The SUV driver opened her door and stepped out, her only noticeable injury being a broken and bleeding nose, probably from her head being thrown forward and hitting the steering wheel on impact. She walked over, casually assessing the damage to Grissom's car, tsking as she noticed that the front bumper of her SUV appeared to have been dented in the accident. It was amazing there wasn't more damage. The woman smirked as her eyes wandered to the sight of Gil Grissom.

Gil looked like a rag doll, his legs bent at odd angles, one arm outstretched and twisted in a way no human arm ever should, the other under his chest. Blood was dripping slowly from his mouth, and the skin on his forehead and scalp had burst open on impact. Bits of safety glass were pebbling his skin, and the button-down shirt he was wearing was ragged and bloody.

The woman squatted down next to him and pressed her fingers into Grissom's neck. Satisfied that there was still a pulse, she grabbed him by the armpits and half carried, half dragged him to the SUV.

A barely conscious Grissom gurgled and tried to focus his vision. "What happened?" he murmured, coughing up a large glob of bloody mucus. The woman who was dragging him tugged him up, hard, as she opened the hatchback of the vehicle. Nonchalantly, she said, "You've been injured in a terrible accident."

With that, she tossed Grissom into the SUV with minimal strain. Gil gasped, the pain was intense. His vision focused for a moment as the hatchback closed; he caught a split second glimpse of a face that was so familiar. Then it all went black.

Nick Stokes arrived at the Crime Lab ten minutes late. He cringed at the thought of what Grissom would say, and worse, what Ecklie would do. But looking around the parking lot, he noticed that Grissom's car wasn't there. Confused, he wondered if he'd carpooled in. He grabbed his duffel bag out of the passenger seat and clicked the "lock" button on his key-less entry before heading into the building.

"Yo, Nick, you seen Grissom?" a deep voice asked as Nick walked in. He looked over to see Warrick reading over some papers. Nick shook his head.

"Why, isn't he here yet?" he asked as he walked over to punch in. Warrick shrugged.

"No one's heard from him. His cell's on, but he's not answering."

"That's weird." It wasn't like Grissom to be late. "You sure he's not here yet?"

"Yeah, man." Warrick ran a hand through is unruly hair. The two men walked toward the locker room.

When Grissom regained consciousness, his body felt heavy, as though his skin was filled with sand. He found that he was tied to something so he stayed upright. It took a moment for the horrible pain to hit him, pain that shot from his wrists down to his toes. He definitely had broken bones. He groaned as he gingerly shifted his weight from his arms to his feet, finding that the pain was worse then. Gritting his teeth, he tried to lift his head so he could look around.

He felt lightheaded, but he was able to raise his head enough to see what was in front of him. It appeared that he was in a small, one room hut. There was a makeshift wooden door and one small, circular window that had been dug out of the apparent clay or mud that made up the walls. The ceiling seemed to be either rock or wood, he couldn't quite tell. The sun was down, if he squinted he could make out some stars through the window. There were a few candles scattered about, casting an eery glow on everything.

The door opened and a short woman walked in, hauling a large backpack and what appeared to be two very full brown paper grocery bags. She slammed the door behind her as she set the paper bags down. She glanced up at Grissom, but showed no emotion. She sat near his feet and began unpacking the grocery bags. Bandages, medical tape, antiseptic- was she going to clean his wounds? The entire contents of one bag was medical supplies. The other held water, rope, a large knife, and a sandwich.

Grissom tried to find his voice, but before he could, the woman stood up and cut the ropes that were holding him up, and he crumpled to the ground. He hissed, the pain was overwhelming. The woman wrenched his arm back and squeezed it, tightly. Grissom cried out, feeling parts of his bones grinding together. The woman ignored him, shifting the arm and squeezing it until she seemed satisfied with its placement. She took a splint from the medical supplies and pressed it against his skin, wrapping medical tape around it tightly, causing him to wince. She moved her attention to his shoulder, and, upon finding that it was dislocated, shoved it violently back into place, forcing a scream from Grissom's lungs.

She then picked up the knife and cut the shirt from Grissom's back, peeling it away and inspecting the bloody scrapes and cuts all across his back. She took one of the bottles of antiseptic- which was rubbing alcohol- opened it, and poured it on his wounds. Gil's vision turned white and his eyes rolled back in his head as he gave a futile groan. He wanted nothing more than for the woman to stop.

He felt bandages being laid across the cuts and scrapes, sealing in the horrible burning sensation, like gasoline being thrown on the fire which was his body. Of course, the woman paid no mind to his suffering, as she had up till that point, and moved on to his other arm. His other arm was actually not in too bad of shape, with only a broken wrist and a few broken fingers. She dug her fingers into his wrist, seemingly expertly placing the bone fragments back where they needed to go. Gil bit his tongue until it bled as she bandaged and splinted what bones were broken.

She stopped for a while after his other arm. After a few minutes had passed, Grissom decided to steal a glance back at her. She was sitting there, staring at him, nibbling on the sandwich that had been in the second grocery bag. He wondered if his voice would be steady enough to ask what was going on.

Before he could decide, the woman set the sandwich in her lap and looked away. "You're Gil Grissom," she stated flatly, "you solve crimes. You work with Nick Stokes. Warrick Brown, too. And Greg Sanders..." The woman's voice trailed off and she nibbled on the sandwich again. A few bites later and she threw the sandwich against the wall. "And Sara Sidle." Her voice was dripping with anger and loathing. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, and she added, in a much less hateful tone, "Catherine Willows, too."

"H-How d-" Grissom whispered, his voice weak and hoarse. The woman sneered at him and picked the knife up again. She slit his pant leg from ankle to back pocket and started working on his leg. His knee was bent the opposite way from how it was supposed to be. Grissom gasped when he realized this. "N-No, please-"

But the woman had already started. She grabbed his thigh and his calf, braced herself, and pushed it straight in one swift motion. Grissom's vision whited out again, and it felt like every synapse in his brain was going off all at once.

Sara arrived at the Crime Lab last, scheduled for only an eight hour shift instead of a nine hour one. When she did arrive, she found the entire team in Grissom's office, all with a rather perturbed look on their faces. "What's going on, guys?"

"You seen Grissom tonight, Sara?" Warrick asked. Sara shook her head. "You're going to want to sit down."

"What's going on?" she asked again, taking a seat on a vacant stool near Grissom's desk.

"Griss' car was found, mutilated. I mean, a tank couldn't have done that much damage. Jim just gave us the news."

"W-What?" Sara turned ghostly pale.

"From the initial police report, it looks as though his car was hit with such force that his body was flung so hard from the seat that it broke the seat belt."

"His... Body?" Sara's voice cracked, "He's-?"

"We don't know. We're assuming so, there was a lot of blood. As unbelievable as it may be, it's being treated as a hit and run. No other car was at the scene."

"Why aren't we there investigating it? Please tell me he's being treated as a missing person. He's gotta be out there. We have to find him!" Sara's voice was shrill and sounded strange to her. Her heart was racing. Out of instinct, she pulled her cell phone from her belt and dialed Grissom's number. It rang three times, and stopped, but didn't go to voicemail. She thought she heard breathing, so she asked, "Gilbert?" A small giggle was audible on the other end of the line. Sara swallowed, hard, and asked again, "Gilbert? Gil, is that you? Honey?"

The rest of the team exchanged shocked glances. Well, everyone except Greg, who just gave a small smirk of knowing.

"Gilbert's not available right now," a sweet, little-girlish voice chimed on the other end of the call.

"What's going on? What are you doing to him? Let me talk to him!" Sara's voice was shrill again.

"He's going away for a long time. Far away," the voice fell entire octaves and turned to a growl, "from you, Sara Sidle." Laughter, maniacal and shrill, followed. Sara pulled away from the receiver, took a deep breath, and began to shout.

"Leave him alone! He hasn't done anything!"

Gilbert was beginning to come to when he realized that the woman was talking to someone. He turned his head as best he could to see her, and saw that she was talking on his phone. "What-" he asked, forcing his voice to work.

"_Leave him alone! He hasn't done anything!_"

"But you, Sara Sidle, have done something," the woman said with a giggle.

"Sara?" Gil muttered, then again, louder, "Sara?" The woman kicked him in the ribs, hard, and he groaned.

"You took someone from me. Someone very special."

"_What_?"

"And now I'll take someone from you." The woman flipped the phone closed, dropped it on the floor, and stomped on it, hard. She dug her heel into it and twisted it, ensuring that it was broken. She then glared down at Grissom. "It's been fun listening to you scream." She turned and walked toward the door. Gil tried his hardest to stand up, but realized it was futile. She'd splinted and bandaged him so he'd heal, but at that same time made it impossible for him to move.

Outside, he heard a car door slam, followed by the engine turning over, and the car speeding off. It echoed through the night. Not knowing what was going to happen, he rolled onto his side and placed his less damaged arm under his head.

_Okay, here's what I know. I was in an accident. This woman saved me, but also left me here. She didn't take me to a hospital. She seemed to relish in torturing me. She was talking to Sara, or so I think. I can't get up. There's no food, and my team doesn't know where I am._ Gil thought, miserably. Outside, he could still see the stars, but there were clouds moving in. He tried to prop himself up to see more of what was outside, and froze. On the side of the hut with the window, at least, he was surrounded by a mound of dirt. He remembered that night's forecast was for torrential rain, causing flash floods.

_I'm gonna die. _

Sara held the phone to her ear even after the line went dead. Her eyes were wide with fear.

"Sara?" Greg asked, "Sara. Sara!"

She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands. "She's got Gil. I- She-"

"We'll find him," Catherine chimed in, kneeling next to her and putting her hands on Sara's shoulders. "His phone had a GPS chip in it, we can track where it's gone tonight."

Outside, they heard a a distant crack of thunder. Sara sobbed.

Grissom had barely dozed off when he heard the rain begin to fall. His first instinct was to sit up, which he found excruciating. He assumed that his spine had been damaged in the crash, along with the various cuts, scrapes, and now, bruises, he knew about. No sooner than he had managed to sit up, water began to rush under the door.

Archie's fingers flew across the keyboard, his eyes fixated on the screen in front of him. "I'm not sure if we can get a definite location on Grissom's cell, especially if it's been broken. I can give you a general area to look in, guys, but that's the best I can do," he explained as he worked. The area on the screen narrowed further and further until it was showing an area of about 50 square miles. Nick looked it over before practically sprinting out to his car. The others were quick to follow.

Each in their own car, they raced out into the desert to the west of the city. They turned their walkie-talkies on as they neared their destination.

"It's raining too hard!" Greg cried, dismayed.

"Keep looking, he's gotta be out here somewhere." Nick's voice was determined.

"Park along the road here, grab your flashlights everyone! We have to continue by foot, we'll just get stuck in mud otherwise," Catherine barked.

"We're going to get stuck in the mud anyway, Cath. How do we know he's even anywhere near where his cell last was?" Warrick groaned.

Lightning flashed, followed by a loud, echoing crash of thunder as they all got out of their cars.

Sara ran out into the increasingly muddy desert, cupped her hands over her mouth, and shouted, "Gil!" She paused, running further into the desert, then shouted again "Gil!" Catherine followed.

"Sara! Wait!" Catherine hollered, but before she could catch up, Sara was gone, veiled in the heavy rain.

The shorter candles fizzled out as the water rose in the small hut. Gil's fear turned to horrible reality as the water reached almost six inches deep. He was going to drown. Or be crushed to death, as the walls were becoming soft and malleable. The upper portion of the window was drooping and sagging down, the wood of the door creaked. A few feet from him, a chunk of the ceiling dropped and landed in the rising water with a large splash.

"Help!" he croaked, grabbing at the wall, at anything to try and pull himself up. Thunder crashed, and another chunk of the ceiling dropped, closer this time, knocking over the last of the candles. The water was now a foot deep.

"Gil!" Sara screamed, sputtering and coughing as she took a lungful of water. Her flashlight did her no good, barely extending her field of vision two feet in any direction. Her heart was racing as she scanned the horizon at each crack of lightning. "Gil!"

"Help!" Gil cried, his voice drowned out by the roar of the rain. He leaned his weight against the mud wall nearest him and poked his arm straight through. An uncontrollable sob burst from his lungs, his face contorted into a horrified expression. "Help me!" Grissom sobbed, "Please, somebody help me! I don't want to die." The water level was fast approaching his chin.

Sara stopped for a moment to catch her breath, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with the rainwater. She waved her flashlight, searching the ground for any sign, any clue that he might be nearby.

And then she saw it. It looked like a semi-clear mud puddle with a mud-covered root poking into it with five small branches to it. She jumped down into the puddle and grabbed it, wiping away the mud and confirming her suspicion. It was a hand. And it was still warm. "Gil?" she asked, "Gil! Gil is that you? Gil!" She pulled at the arm, futility at its best. It wouldn't budge.

"Sara?" she heard a muffled answer, the hand clenched into a weak fist, "I don't have much time."

"Gil it's me, I'm here," Sara called, "Hold on we're gonna get you out!" She fumbled for her walkie, pushed the button, and screamed, "TEAM! I NEED YOU! I FOUND HIM!" Sara then tossed the walkie into the mud and began to dig.

"Sara, I can't move!" Gil called, gurgling. The water was up to his lips, the ceiling was collapsing all around him, and he could feel himself sinking into the muddy floor. The door had floated away, he could only assume, and the mud from the wall that had held it up had sealed him in. He clawed at the wall with his free hand. "I- The water's up to my mouth I don't have much time!"

"Hold on! Oh God, Gil, hold on!" Sara sobbed, frantically digging through the mud that seemed to go on forever. The rain had matted her hair to her forehead, making it incredibly difficult to see. "Gil, when you have to, take a good deep breath, I'm gonna get you out of this I promise!" The hand grabbed her arm, clinging to her for a moment, before letting go.

She used the end of her flashlight to chisel out more of the thick, gooey mud. Warrick and Nick arrived a few moments later.

"How is he?" Nick asked as he hopped into the puddle and waded over. Sara's expression of horrified worry told them both how dire the situation was. Nick tore at the hole that Sara had started, his big, strong hands ripping large portions of the mud from the wall. "Hold on, Griss! We're coming!"

Warrick waded over just as Greg came running. Greg dove in, not asking questions, and clawed at the base of the muddy wall. Glancing up, he saw Grissom's arm thrash; their boss and friend was panicking. Probably running out of air. Greg hit the wall with his flashlight as hard as he could, making a noticeable hole. He dug his hands in and the mud loosened, becoming more and more watery, before giving way to an opening.

His lungs were screaming for air as he pushed himself through the opening he'd created. He surfaced on the other side, finding only about a foot and a half of open space between the water and what was left of the ceiling. He looked around, manic, trying to locate Grissom. A ripple off to his left alerted him to his friend. He dove under again and found Grissom, thrashing about, clawing at the arm that was stuck.

Greg grabbed him and yanked, hard, finally freeing Grissom's arm. He gripped Grissom under his armpits and pulled him up toward their shrinking air source. Closer, closer. Two feet. One foot. Four inches... Grissom stopped flailing and fell back against Greg's chest. Greg exhaled, hard, and kicked one more time, both their heads breaking the surface of the water.

"Grissom, Griss!" he cried, fumbling to feel his neck for a pulse. "Guys, hurry!" Greg shifted, trying to figure out a way that he could hold Grissom's head above the water and dig for a way out at the same time.

The wall seemed to implode before his eyes. His friends must have clawed enough of the mud away to dilute the rest. The water rushed out, filling the rest of the ditch and leveling out around Warrick's chest. The rain seemed to have slow. Everything seemed to be passing in slow motion. Nick and Warrick rushed at Greg. Greg rushed at Nick and Warrick. They grabbed onto Grissom, helping to keep him above water. Warrick felt for a pulse and shook his head.

"We need to do CPR!" He hollered. They hoisted Grissom up to the actual level area of the ground, and Warrick climbed up with very little trouble. While Nick helped to boost Sara and Greg out of the ditch, Warrick knelt beside Grissom and began mouth to mouth resuscitation. Sara sobbed as she knelt next to Warrick, watching Grissom's chest rise and fall with each breath Warrick breathed into him.

"Please," Sara whispered, "don't die. I can't bear it if you die."

Nick called on his walkie for a medical helicopter. Greg called for Catherine. Warrick coughed and felt for a pulse. He started chest compressions, clenching his eyes closed tightly. "Come on, Gil, come on!"

With each compression, a bit of water dribbled out of Grissom's mouth. Warrick gave two long, deep breaths, and fifteen more compressions. Sara gripped Grissom's hand, the one that had been stuck in the wall, and stared at his face, willing him to move, to show that he was okay.

Two more breaths. Warrick checked for a pulse.

End part 1 of 2.


End file.
